Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

After saying that, he ignored the reactions of the people in the room, strode out of the ward, and closed the wooden door tightly behind him.

The corridor was empty, and the cold wind of the late night flowed in through the half-open window, dispersing the pungent smell of Lysol in the air.

Zhao Shanhe went down the stairs.

The outpatient hall was deserted in the early morning, with only a few incandescent light tubes overhead emitting a pale light. It was so quiet that you could hear the faint hum of electricity coming from the tubes.

A dim yellow lamp was lit in the duty room of the first-floor reception desk.

Zhao Shanhe stepped forward, bent his rough index finger, and gently tapped it twice on the smooth wooden tabletop.

The nurse on duty was writing the handover log with her head down when she was interrupted by noise. She frowned and looked up.

"Comrade, may I borrow your phone?"

The nurse looked him up and down, and seeing that he was a stranger, she subconsciously reached out to block the black bakelite landline on the table: "This is the hospital's duty room hotline. According to regulations, you can't just make personal calls."

Zhao Shanhe did not respond.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a two-cent banknote, pressed two fingers along the edge, and quietly pushed it to the nurse's side along the smooth wooden tabletop.

The nurse glanced down at the two cents, pursed her lips, and with perfect understanding, pulled the patient's medical record over it. Then, she silently stood up, picked up the aluminum thermos from the corner of the table, and turned to go to the water room at the end of the corridor to fetch water.

Zhao Shanhe stepped forward and reached into his inner pocket to pull out a crumpled piece of paper.

That note was the one Ivanov had given him before.

The paper reeked of cheap tobacco, and a name was written in crooked Chinese characters, followed by a long phone number.

Zhao Shanhe spread the paper strip flat on the table with two fingers, picked up the heavy receiver and held it to his ear. He then inserted his rough index finger into the dial pad's round hole and skillfully turned it clockwise according to the number.

"Swish—swish—"

The mechanical friction of the dial being turned was particularly clear in the quiet outpatient hall.

Soon, a monotonous and long waiting tone came through the receiver.

"Beep—beep—"

The phone rang more than a dozen times.

Just as Zhao Shanhe frowned and was about to press the receiver to redial, a muffled "click" sound suddenly came from the receiver.

The line is connected.

After a burst of jarring static, a hoarse, dry voice came from the other end of the phone, like a dull, rusty wooden saw scraping hard on coarse sandpaper.

"Who?"

Zhao Shanhe stared expressionlessly at the deep night outside the glass door, his voice calm as still water: "I am Zhao Shanhe, I am looking for Ivanov."

As soon as the words were spoken, the receiver fell into a deathly silence.

All that could be heard was a faint hissing sound of electricity and the other person's slightly muffled breathing coming through the microphone.

A good ten seconds or so passed.

The hoarse voice rang out again, this time with less wariness and more of a tentative, surprised tone: "The one that killed the Siberian tiger?"

"Yes."

Zhao Shanhe didn't even blink, and uttered a single word crisply and decisively.

The person on the other end of the phone seemed to quickly calculate something in their mind before dropping a cold, curt reply.

"He's not here right now. Call this number again in half an hour."

"Snapped!"

Without uttering a single unnecessary word, the other party immediately hung up the phone.

The receiver was instantly filled with only a monotonous and piercing "beep beep" dial tone.

Zhao Shanhe slowly removed the receiver and pressed it back onto the bakelite base.

At the end of the corridor, in the water room, the nurse on duty was carrying a full aluminum thermos flask back home.

Zhao Shanhe didn't linger at the information desk. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the half-pack of Daqianmen cigarettes, took a bite, and turned to push open the glass door of the outpatient hall.

A cool night breeze swept over us, rustling the old elm trees in the hospital courtyard.

The dim streetlights flickered on and off, casting distorted and mottled shadows of bare tree branches, like menacing ghost faces.

Just as Zhao Shanhe was about to strike a match with his hand to his mouth, a series of anxious shouts suddenly came from the gate of the compound.

A rusty ambulance screeched as it sped toward the outpatient hall, its wheels grinding against the potholes in the concrete.

The person pushing the cart was a thin, elderly caregiver and Liu Mei, the nurse who had just lost her temper in the ward.

Just as it was about to reach the ramp leading to the steps, the swivel wheel on the right front of the flatbed suddenly made a harsh metallic cracking sound and got stuck in the gap of the drainage ditch.

The heavy vehicle tilted violently, nearly knocking the people lying on it to the ground.

"Lift it with all your might!"

Liu Mei was sweating profusely with anxiety. She gripped the handlebars tightly and tried desperately to lift the car up, then turned and shouted urgently into the empty hall, "Someone come and help! Where is everyone?!"

The elderly caregiver, her face flushed, was almost bent over from the strain but still couldn't lift the stuck corner. She complained breathlessly, "Nurse Liu, where is anyone else? That leader surnamed Gao in ward number one was vomiting and had diarrhea, filling the room with the smell of feces. All the handymen went over there to sweep and wash the bedpans, and the male doctors are all in the operating room. We simply can't spare anyone!"

Seeing the two of them pacing anxiously, Zhao Shanhe, with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, strode down the steps.

Without a word, he walked to the right side of the flatcar and grabbed the rusty iron frame base with his rough hands.

With a sudden clench of his shoulder muscles and a low groan, he managed to lift the jammed wheel and the heavy car body together.

"push."

Zhao Shanhe uttered only one word.

Liu Mei was stunned for a moment, then suddenly came to her senses, gripped the flatbed cart handles tightly with both hands, gritted her teeth and pushed forward.

The elderly caregiver also quickly rallied from behind.

"Bang!"

The swivel caster, which was stuck in the crack of the drainage ditch, was forcibly lifted out of the ditch by Zhao Shanhe and placed back on the cement ground.

The flatbed cart wobbled for a moment, but finally managed to push steadily up the steps.

Liu Mei let out a long sigh of relief, her forehead covered in sweat.

"Thank you, comrade."

She had just opened her mouth to thank him when she looked up and suddenly realized that the tall man in front of her looked somewhat familiar.

Liu Mei blinked, immediately matching the person in front of her with the scene in the emergency room: "Weren't you... with Comrade Dazhuang? The guy who was leading the group in the emergency room earlier?"

Zhao Shanhe patted the rust off his palm, followed the flatcar forward, and said in a friendly and straightforward tone, "It's me. Dazhuang's brother, Zhao Shanhe."

Liu Mei's eyes lit up instantly, and her tense nerves relaxed.

"I knew it! You guys are all cut from the same cloth."

As she pushed the handlebars with alternating hands, she couldn't help but mutter to herself, "You all look like black iron towers dug out of the mountains. The surgical cart that usually takes several people to lift is as light as a stack of firewood in your hands."

The elderly caregiver, who was panting heavily, couldn't help but chuckle when he heard this.

"Nurse Liu, what you're saying is true. That's the rugged strength she's developed from years of working in the mountains, exposed to the wind and sun—it's something she's truly adept at!"

Liu Mei then realized that her earlier use of the phrase "Black Iron Tower" had been somewhat inappropriate, and her fair cheeks instantly flushed red.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant..." Her eyes darted away nervously, and she tried to explain with a face full of apology.

Seeing her embarrassed appearance, Zhao Shanhe smiled.

"It's nothing. Dazhuang has been running around in the mountains since he was a child, so he's rough around the edges and really is like a black iron tower."

He deliberately slowed down by half a step, his voice carrying a teasing tone: "But I think it's a good thing that he got injured this time; it's a blessing for the kid."

Upon hearing this, Liu Mei was taken aback.

She slowed her pace slightly as she pushed the handlebars, and her delicate eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"What kind of older brother are you?"

Liu Mei turned to look at Zhao Shanhe, muttering indignantly, "He was shot, bled so much, and almost died. How can he turn misfortune into good fortune?"

Looking at her serious expression, Zhao Shanhe's smile deepened.

"Because if this idiot hadn't been shot, how would he have been lucky enough to meet such a caring and considerate nurse like you here?"

Liu Mei was jolted by these blunt words. Her hands, which were pushing the cart, unconsciously gripped the iron pipe tightly. She blinked a couple of times, looking somewhat lost, and even her lips parted slightly, unable to utter a word for a long time.

Before she could swallow her embarrassment, Zhao Shanhe let out a long breath and continued, his tone a mixture of genuine and feigned sorrow.

"This kid is only two or three years younger than me. My kids are already six or seven and old enough to run errands, but he's never even held a woman's hand and is still single."

"As the older brother, this is what I worry about most. I'll have to trouble you to take good care of him while he recovers here."

When Liu Mei heard the word "take care of", her ears turned red all the way to her neck.

"You...you comrades, what nonsense are you spouting!"

She blushed deeply, too embarrassed to even lift her head, and stammered in explanation, "Don't joke with me, I... I'm just a nurse, taking care of patients is my job..."

After saying that, she was so ashamed that she didn't dare to look Zhao Shanhe in the eye again. She suddenly exerted force with her hand and pushed the flatbed cart forward quickly.

The elderly caregiver was suddenly pulled from behind and could only run and stumble after her towards the emergency room.

Zhao Shanhe smiled, stopped walking, and didn't follow.

But just as Liu Mei quickened her pace in her panic, pushing the front wheel of the flatbed cart and violently crushing the seam between two floor tiles, she suddenly...

With a violent jolt, the tattered military overcoat covering the seriously wounded soldier slipped off one corner.

A pale arm then drooped down, swinging erratically in mid-air.

Zhao Shanhe was nearby and quick-witted. He instinctively stepped forward and reached out to help tuck the arm back into his coat.

But the moment his fingers touched the man's wrist, Zhao Shanhe's smile froze, and his deep pupils contracted into dangerous pinpoints.

That hand was covered in dried, purplish-black scabs.

The five fingers were twisted in a way that defied common sense. Two of the fingers had been severed at the base, leaving only bloody, mangled wounds.

The remaining three finger bones were forcibly folded towards the back of the hand with extreme brute force, the pale bone fragments piercing through the flesh and exposed to the cold air.